Surprise

My friend Tatum has never been surprised, so today Kim, Lloyd, and I got into a car and drove to Gainesville. Tatum didn't know I was coming. Neither did Monica.

When we got to Monica's dorm, I hid in Kim's trunk. As soon as she sat in the backseat, I pushed open a little compartment from the trunk and grabbed her arm and yelled. She freaked out. Successful surprise. Then again, when Tatum got into the car later, I was all ready in the trunk, hand popping out, scream. Tatum was finally surprised!

We did a lot today, ate good food and saw bats and broke into a National Park (only to be caught and turned away soon after by a creepy park ranger) and drank good coffee and played fun games.

Now I'm tired, back home in Orlando.

And so so so excited for Seattle in a week. :D

Poll

So today is the last day to vote in that little poll on the right side of the screen,
and according to the poll so far,
the majority of the people who read this blog are middle-aged white women.

Awesome.

Lawyer

I'm trying to study for my Mass Communication Law exam. It's not going so well.

Our professor has a huge thing for the First Amendment, and literally every single thing we talk about in that class has to do with it. Every single thing. I am so sick of the First Amendment, I don't even want it anymore. That's right, Government, you can now restrict what I say and where I say it! Just please abolish the First Amendment so I don't have to care about it anymore.

I don't know how lawyers go through law school. I really don't. Read the following words: judicial theories, forum analysis, elements of libel, statue of limitations, summary judgement. I'm afraid I have to stop right there because I was thisclose to falling asleep.

I don't have anything against the law, I just wish it wasn't such a dry topic. After a month in this class, I have a newfound respect for lawyers. Anyone who was forced to learn about how the First Amendment was applied to Gitlow v. New York, and still found "the concept of law" interesting is a hero in my book. I can't even imagine what law school must be like. This class makes me hate "the concept of law" so much that I'm thinking about committing various crimes just to get back at the law. Maybe going to some lawyers' office in the middle of the night and spray-painting ""IT IS AGAINST THE LAW TO SPRAY-PAINT AND THAT IS WHY I'M DOING THIS" across the wall or something.

In conclusion, the applications, limitations, and expansions of The First Amendment do not interest me. If they interest you, sweet, become a lawyer and make lots of money. I'll always respect that; I'll just never understand it.

Soup

I feel like a man with a fork in a world of soup.

Also, it's cold outside again. I love that. It makes me excited to one day, hopefully soon, settle down where the brisk and frigid air is the norm, not the exception. I used to hate the cold, but now I can't get enough. Especially when the heater is on and the house gets that cozy feeling? Ahh, the best.

In conclusion, I want to travel. I have five friends who are living in Europe right now. FIVE. I'm so jealous. I want to experience cultures and lifestyles and eat different foods and see things I've only read about. I'm only beginning to truly comprehend how massive the world is, and how much "stuff" is out there, that most people only hear and read about. I want to see it.

Laundry

Rhetorical question: Is there anything worse than hanging up laundry?

This question is rhetorical because of course the answer is no, there isn't.

I. Hate. Laundry.

Right now, a pile of clean clothes the size of Mt. Everest is resting on my bed, waiting to be put back into the closet until duty calls again. This pile is enormous. I guarantee you have never seen a pile of clean, nice smelling clothes this big. It is an epic pile that will make you tremble, cower with fear... yes, I have been slacking and have not done my laundry in a bit longer than usual, almost going through all my clothes until there was no other option. Now, it's time to pay the price.

I. Hate. Laundry.

I'm looking this pile up and down. It's looking me up and down. Let the epic showdown begin.

I might not make it. They might find my body, clutching five multi-colored hangers, a look of absolute boredom on my face. This pile... might actually kill me with tedious, repetitive boredom.

I. Hate. Laundry.

Hedgehog Morgan Freeman

You know how sometimes you have a hedgehog for a very short amount of time and all of a sudden he has cancer? Oh, you don't? Well I do.

We've had Hedgehog for a little more than a week now. A few days ago Kim noticed a little black bump on his side, took him to the vet, and lo and behold... the little dude is terminally ill. On one hand, we've had him for a very short time, so... you know. But on the other hand, we've all grown at least a little emotionally attached, so this news really sucks.

However, we've decided to make his last few days on Earth the best a hedgehog can have, so we've created him a bucket list.

I'm sure by now every person has seen The Bucket List starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson.



Look how happy they are! Two men, faced with mortality, side by side, helping each other out... uncertain of the future, yet, with the comfort of another soul going through the same trials and tribulations, knowing they are not alone, that they have each other... so, as I was saying, I'm sure every person has seen this cinematic heartwarming masterpiece...

Oh, you haven't? Me neither, it looked really sucky. But I'm assuming it's about two dudes who are about to die so they set out to do as much shit as possible. Basically, Hedgehog will be doing the same.

He's already got a beach day planned. Maybe a park day? Universal Studios? Skydiving? The sky's the limit! (No, seriously, the sky is the limit, because we're not sending the little fucker to space, no matter how much he pleads.)

I was thinking though... it'd be nice to find another terminally ill hedgehog and have them do this all together, you know, like in the movie. So if you have a hedgie that is sadly ill, send him this way. Although I call dibs on our Hedgehog being Morgan Freeman in this scenario... I always imagined that if he could talk like a human, Hedgehog would have the deep, gravelly voice that narrated "March of the Penguins".

Anyways, yeah. All joking aside, this is pretty sad. Ahh well, at least we can make his last days a bit more fun.

Toy Camera

So I have this friend, right, and she goes to NYU, yeah, and she's like, totally super awesome, and her name is Anna Cincera.

Anna is, much like me, an iPhone owner. It's sort of a hobby of ours, to own iPhones. It's actually quite a popular hobby... I think somewhere around 50 million people worldwide partake in this hobby. Anyways, Anna and I were talking about iPhone Apps, and she mentioned "Toy Camera" to me.

Basically, roadtrips have never been the same again. Why, you ask? Well, dear friend, it's because when you're driving to Gainesville, or back down to South Florida, you can take pictures that, as Anna descibes, "all look like country music albums". Seriously, my iPhone album is half normal pictures, half pictures of the road. And they all look like country music albums. It's fascinating to me. It's all I do while driving, is take pictures. I occasionally look at the road as well, I guess, but mostly I just snap some photos. And they come out country. Have a look-see:

(I suggest listening to some country... and trying not to kill yourself... while looking at these.)















Makes me all... introverted and Kerouac-y and stuff.

Crickets

So in addition to having Hedgehog, we also have Beard, who is a bearded dragon that lives in an aquarium in Kim's room (Hedgehog the hedgehog and Beard the bearded dragon... creativity sure is in abundance in this house). Anyways, the day we got Hedgehog, Kim and I went to Petsmart for some pet supplies. Kim bought Beard a box of crickets, since he eats crickets with the same passion that I eat Chipotle with.

Anyways, when we got home, we wanted to see if Hedgehog would eat a cricket, since they are omnivores and eat anything. Well, he did. However, the excitement of seeing Hedgehog eat a cricket may have gotten to Kim, because she forgot to close the lid on the cricket box.

In conclusion, for the past week or so 29 crickets (minus the one that Hedgehog mercilessly devoured) have been roaming our humble abode. We have seen them everywhere, scurrying and hopping and chirping. Today, Jack saw a dead one in the shower, which means our house has now become a mass grave of 29 crickets. I can't wait to surprisingly find dead crickets everywhere!

This has been the worst cricket tragedy since the infamous Cricket Holocaust of 1979, in which for some reason the snakes of Germany decided to blame all of their problems on crickets, and set out to destroy the entire cricket population of the world. They were led by Snakedolf Hissler. puh dum chh.
Never forget.

WUCF

I've recently discovered my favorite radio station of all time: WUCF 89.9, "Jazz and More". 89.9% of the time you're in my car, this station will be on. I like it because it's simple: jazz music 24/7 except for one hour, usually at 6 p.m. (right as I'm leaving Developmental Psychology) when they play NPR's Fresh Air. I'm guessing this hour qualifies for the "and More" part, because other than this it is all jazz, all the time.

With most radio stations it's either hit-or-miss. You never know which song they'll play next, and more often than not, it'll be a song that you just don't feel like listening to. But with WUCF, you always know what you're gonna get... good jazz music and that's it.

And to top it all off, they broadcast right from the Communications building, right next to my morning class:



Doo boo doo ba ba ba dee ba ba ba dee boo

Hedgehog

What's small, spiky, had piggy legs, and doesn't stop moving? Our new family hedgehog!



Yes, the Scottafouchenathanberg household has a new family pet who lives in a giant bin of a world on the granite countertop that nobody used by the dining room. Kim and I went to Home Depot and bought the largest bin we could find and built a little home for him. It looks like this:



He has, as Jack described, "very pig-like legs", and a little snout that never stops moving. And he is adorable. When I put him on my bed he just burrows as deep as he can into the mess of blankets and comforters and pillows. Hedgehog is generally very friendly, except when you wake him up he gets really pissed off like an old man. He's a very "Get off my lawn, you crazy kids!" hedgehog.

The one thing I have learned is that male hedgehogs have their manhood located in the middle of their belly. That freaked me out at first.

He doesn't have a name yet, as we've taken to simply calling him "Hedgehog", or, in some cases, "The Hedgehog". If anyone can think of an awesome name, please comment.



(My favorite thing to do is put him in his back. Seriously, he is awesome.)

Alzy

I feel so, so, so horrible for thinking this is one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my entire life.

Clocked

Consider the life of an alarm clock:

You are conceived in a factory. You wait some time on the shelves of a Wal-Mart or whatnot, and are finally "born" (read: turned on) in some strangers house. You don't have a childhood... you are basically forced to work from day one. Your life is not easy.

Yes, you have one job, but that job is crucial. You must wake up your Master by screaming at the top of your lungs right into his ear, usually at ridiculous hours with no reprieve. Your life is monotonous; every morning it's the same, and you relish weekends as much as anybody else, when you don't have to ruin your vocal chords by yelling as loudly as possible.

Sometimes, you sleep through your job and forget to wake your Master up, and he gets angry and hits you and mutters, "Great, now I'm late for work, stupid alarm clock." He never takes your feelings into consideration, rather, he only thinks about himself. You try to explain to him, "Hey buddy, even the best rooster sometimes slept through the mornin' sun, I'm not perfect!" but sadly, alarm clocks don't speak and so you can only think this, and hope you remember your job the next day. Finally, after a hard life full of nothing but early mornings and work, your batteries start to fade, the little red numbers on your face get dimmer, until one day you are nothing but some plastic in the garbage can. Yes, the life of an alarm clock is not an enviable one.

Seriously guys, this is the kind of stupid stuff I daydream about in the shower.

Foodlympics: Limeball

There is a hole in the bay window of our kitchen. Or rather, there was a hole, until earlier today. Don't believe me?



There, some proof. I bet you feel silly now.

Anyways, right about now you must be wondering how in the hell did that hole get there? We all know holes don't just magically appear in bay windows. Maybe they used to, I don't know, but they sure don't anymore. Well, dear friend, the source of that hole was a lime. Oh yes, a lime. A little green and surprisingly durable lime. And how did he cause the hole, you ask? Was he out for some sort of revenge? The answer is yes. This lime wanted revenge, and decided the best way to get it was to propel itself through our kitchen window.

It all started last Friday night in our humble Helena Drive abode. Kim, Lloyd, and I were bored out of our minds late at night, and with a rallying cry of, "The night is still young!", made our way into the kitchen to make our own fun. After racking our brains, we came up with a brilliant idea: Foodlympics.

The first contest in Foodlympics was "Mouth Bread". While Kim counted to ten, we had to shove a whole piece of white bread in our mouth and try to eat as much as possible, spitting out the contents at the end of the alloted time. It was both gross and impossible. The next contest was "Cinnamon Spoon", which as you can guess, involved us shoving a spoon of cinnamon down the hatchet. Both the cinnamon and the feeling of coming in 2nd place were bitter. The third contest was "Super Syrup". Super Syrup was a creation of mine and Lloyd's. It's a mixture of chocolate syrup and maple syrup, stirred together and drank in a shotglass. It was by far the most sugary event in Foodlympics.

Finally, the moment arrived. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was time for America's new pastime... Limeball. Limeball, for the few of you who have never played, involves pitching a lime and hitting it with various objects. The first inning of Limeball was played with a mop. The second inning, I kid you not, was played with a hammer. A HAMMER. The lime itself was repeatedly tossed and hit, and as we all know, limes are nasty sour little guys. And this lime was the nastiest, sourest of all.

The third inning was played with a frying pan. After the first few pitches, I came up to bat. The lime had had enough. Kim tossed me the lime, I whacked it (not even that hard), and the lime, fed up with being used and abused, made a beeline for the window. Next thing we know, the aforementioned hole is there and we don't know what to do.

This is what we did:







Yep, we toiled all day, unscrewing and smashing and bashing. As of this second, there is just an open space, covered with a towel, of where the glass used to be. Tomorrow, I believe, we are gluing in the panel that we bought. All in all, totally worth it, especially since we got our own revenge on that bitter lime by throwing it out. Have fun in the garbage dump, you dumb lime!

Woodstock/Joe Cocker

Imagine you are at Woodstock. Imagine the excitement of being at this festival, knowing you are a part of something monumental, something that will be talked about by future generations. The people, the drugs, the atmosphere, love love love, peace peace peace, ideas and visions floating around, smiles and rain and freedom, dirty hippies...

You experience a few days of this. By Sunday, August 17, 1969, you are tired, worn down. Sure, you've had a blast, but you want to take a shower, and sure, you're having fun, but you can feel the end is coming. You're ready for the last day.

It's the afternoon. You aimlessly wander around with your friends, lazy and happy, high on life and other stuff. "Who goes up first today?" you ponder. You make your way to the stage. You hear some band playing instrumental music.

Uh oh. You hate instrumental music. "No words, not for me," you think to yourself.

You're almost ready to leave when somebody whispers, "Oh look, it's Joe Cocker." You frown. You were hoping for Hendrix (who, incidentally, would be on last today, but you don't know this yet). "What the hell, why not", you think to yourself, and you decide to stay for his set.

By the last song, your mouth is open and you are struggling to comprehend what the fuck you just witnessed, a rockstar in tie-dye who has seizures on stage while singing, a voice like no other, a God in a Man's body, your brain doesn't know what to do and you have a strange longing for this dude to play nonstop for at least three more days. "One more" he says. "I'm gonna leave ya with the usual thing," he says, "this title puts it all into focus."

And then you see the following take place:



As he walks off stage, people around you are screaming but you are just stunned, a brute force just hit you upside the head. "Holy shit," you think to yourself, "that was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. That was better than The Beatles' version! So much passion, so much emotion!"

As you're walking away, the clouds turn an ominous dark color as a thunderstorm erupts, lightning cracks and rain pours, and you get the feeling that He Who Lives Up There was saving it until Mr. Cocker left the stage, not wanting to interrupt anything.

Then you go back to your tent and take some shrooms and trip balls and pass out, and end up missing Jimi Hendrix.

No but seriously, that video gets me every time. That primal, animalistic scream at 4:55... goddamn, talk about feeling the music. Good stuff, Joe Cocker, really good stuff.

Writer's Block-Ade

So this semester I have classes two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Five classes, spread out unevenly over two days. And every Tuesday and every Thursday (well, on the two so far that I've had this semester), I look in the mirror in the morning and think to myself, "Today's the day. Today's the day that I will drop out of school and go play the ukulele at some intersection for money, and those three middle school kids will spit on me as they steal the few quarters or so that I will have, but it'll be okay, since I won't have to go to my 7:30 morning class". But for some reason, I'm always too tired to follow through on that, so I go to my classes grumpily, muttering to myself about how I would rather be doing anything else, namely sleeping.



(Apparently when I sleep I don't understand the concept of a blanket, that it's supposed to go over your whole body... no wonder my feet always feel cold when I wake up, and I constantly have dreams that I'm walking barefoot on snow.)

Anyways.

Having classes two days a week means I have a lot of free time, and one of my goals for this semester was to start writing again. I used to love writing, mainly short stories about crazy worlds and aliens and people made out of bubble-gum. Seriously. One of my favorite little stories that I ever wrote was about people who were made out of bubble-gum. First place in the 7th grade Literary Fair, hell yeah.

But a few years back, just a little while before high school ended, I stopped writing. I don't know why. I had reached my author-peak sometime in the middle of high school, and then writing became a chore and so I stopped.

Well, before this semester started I was all, "Okay. Story time again. I will be like The Beatles, the fucking Beatles, churning out story after story like they churned out albums. Fuck yes."

And so last Monday I whipped out a pen and paper and had this awesome idea and started writing and wrote the best little story I have ever written and sent it out and it was published by Strange Horizons Magazine and... and none of that really happened. I just stared at the paper, not knowing what the hell I was doing, like when you fall asleep in math class and then look at the homework and then silently pout because you know there is no way, there is NO WAY, that you will know what to do.

Fuck writer's block.

The end, because I don't know what else to write, because I have writer's block right now. You know how they made Gatorade for athlete's to help them with conditioning and electrolytes and stuff? Hey, UF kids, work on something for the literary bunch, called "Writer's Block-Ade" or something, to stimulate our brains in ways they haven't been stimulated before.

Thanks :)

Oasis

Listening to Oasis, one has to wonder how big they could have really gotten had the Gallagher brothers not felt the need to be cliche rock stars the whole time, because damn, when things were clicking, they were SO GOOD.

I mean, just listen to "Don't Look Back In Anger" on full volume and tell me that wasn't one kickass band.

The problem though, of course, was that each Gallagher brother wanted to be more badass than his sibling, which led to punches thrown and insults hurled constantly over the decade or so that they were really big. On one hand, hearing stories of them trashing hotel rooms and throwing TV's out the window is cool, because let's face it... rock stars are cool. Isn't that the whole point of the movie "Almost Famous"? Being a rock star is cool. But being a rock star is also an image you project to your fans and the media, people who don't really know you personally. There is no point to trying to be a rock star to your own flesh and blood, because they knew what you were like before you got famous... the illusion just won't work.

Which is exactly what Liam and Noel tried to do with all those insults and punches, and why Oasis crumbled and went from being the biggest band in the world to being a punching bag of mediocrity.

Oh well, at least they left us (What's the Story) Morning Glory?, which keeps me up at night by tickling my ears and defining what a rock album should sound like.

I mean, just look at them:



So fucking cool.

Mormons...

So today I was awakened at 3 p.m. by a...

Yes, I said 3 p.m. And yes, I did go to sleep at 2 last night, thanks very much. I understand that is 13 hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. Well, not really uninterrupted.

As I was saying, I was awakened by a knock on the door. Now, normally in this situation I would close my eyes and go back to sleep and wait for one of my roommates to answer.

Which I did.

So I was very surprised when the knock on the door was followed by a ring on the doorbell. "Hmm," I thought to myself, "there must be nobody home." So with great reluctance I stood up, put on some pants, shuffled out of my room, and opened the door to find two well-dressed Mormons staring back at me.

At this point I was annoyed because I had put on pants for no good reason. It is a commonly known fact that putting on pants means you are ready to begin the day, and while I had 13 hours of sleep to be thankful for, I wasn't quite ready to "go do stuff". However, I figured, once this Mormon interaction would be over, I would have to "go do stuff", because I had already put on my pants. Hey, I don't make the pant-rules, I just live by them.

Anyways, Mormon #1 looks me up and down and begins his monologue.

"Hello, we are with the Church of Latter-Day Saints and we would like to talk to you today about Jesus Christ. Do you accept Jesus Christ in your heart?"

At least he got right to the point, unlike those bullshit preachers on campus who try to be your friend before they spring His Holiness on you.

"No, Sir" I said, wanting nothing more than to go back to my room, take off my pants, and go back to sleep.

Mormon #1 looks disappointed. Mormon #2, a chubbier dude with more hair, speaks up.

"Uhh... are you agnostic? Atheist?"

"No, I'm Jewish".

I racked my brains for ways to get out of this, and could think of nothing better or more creative than some good ol' fashioned honesty. Surely even Mormons could appreciate that.

"Listen guys," I interjected, before they could say anything, "I appreciate this and all, but I just woke up and I'm really hungry so if you could get to the point..."

A bit rude, perhaps, but then again, they were the ones who had made me put on my pants this morning.

Mormon #1's turn again.

"Well, is there a better time we could stop by and maybe talk to you?"

"Not really."

"Okay, well here's a card, we'll stop by some other time."

Mormon #1 handed me a little card with some info about the LDS Church on it, I said "Thanks, have a good day" and that was that.

When I got back to my room I thought about taking my pants off and going back to sleep, but everybody knows that once you put your pants on you have to start the day, so instead I took a shower.

Damn you Mormons. Damn you.

Also, while leaving Chipotle today, the car in front of me had the absolute worst bumper sticker I have ever seen:



It says, "LOST YOUR CAT? TRY LOOKING UNDER MY TIRES."

Either that's a reference I don't get, or that guy is a Grade-A dickwad.

Improv

First of all, if you haven't already done so, please donate anything you can to the Haiti relief effort.

http://www.google.com/relief/haitiearthquake/

Anyways, tonight a few friends and I went downtown to an Improv Comedy Show at the Sak Comedy Club, which was actually where Wayne Brady got started. It was hilarious, basically like watching Who's Line Is It Anyway? live. There was lots of crowd interaction, and the performers were all really funny (my favorite was a chubby dude who looked like Jemaine Clement and Seth Rogen had a baby).



Fun times for all.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need some sleep... school is already wearing me out, and it's only been a week. Pretty soon I'll start feeling like an old man.

Bad

The water heater broke, so each of us has five good minutes of hot water before we feel it start cool down ever so slowly until even turning the knob to "MAX HOT" leaves you icy and shivering.

This makes me very sad.

Also, don't ever pick a class that starts at 7:30, even if it allows you to keep your precious two-days-a-week schedule. Waking up when it's still dark out is depressing. On top of that, I was early today. Early to a 7:30 a.m. class. I sat there wishing I was still in Sleepy Land and not in You're the First One Here How Big of a Loser Do You Feel Like Land.

Excuse me while I go take a cold shower.



(Haha, how depressing does that sound?)

Spontaneity!

Also Known As, "THE RANDOM TRIP TO TALLAHASSEE AND GAINESVILLE WITH LEE"




So last Thursday, January 7th, Lee and I decided to make a day trip to Tallahassee because classes didn't start until this week. Originally, we decided to make it a one day affair, to go up and come back down that night, but just in case something happened, we packed for two days. Little did we know even that wouldn't be enough.

We hit the open road a bit later than planned (read: much later than planned, because we are lazy college kids who don't like to wake up early in the morning), and wound up getting to Tallahassee around 9 in the evening. We had already talked about staying the night with our awesome friend Laurel who agreed to graciously host us, so we decided, what the hell, let's do it. Night 1 in Tallahassee was spent trying to warm up from the cold.

The next day the three of us woke up bright and early and headed to the FSU campus, the last of the "Big Three" Florida schools that I've never been to. It was nice to see brick buildings that were built before 1960... the campus reminded me a lot of UF's campus, probably because they were founded within two years of each other. Lee and I explored the campus a little while Laurel went to class, and a monk gave me the Bhagavad Gita, one the most important Hindu scriptures full of yoga and karma stuff which I will probably give to my mom. Anyways, no Hindu God could make the weather warmer, and the cold made us want to be inside as much as possible, so we went with Laurel to her next two classes (which means, of course, that at the time of writing this I have been to more classes at FSU this semester than I have been at UCF).

After seeing some old friends in class, Laurel, Lee, and I went to Chilis to eat. Now, anyone who knows me knows how much I love Chili's. I love Chili's. A ridiculous amount. So guess how I feel knowing that UCF is the only one of the three schools not to have an on-campus Chili's? Three Subways are nice and all, but man, I wish we had a Chili's. Anyways.



(Yes I took a picture of the Chili's because I was so excited)

After lunch Lee left to go chill with his brother while Laurel and I went to The Women's Center, a really cool and really old house that houses the organization. After spending some time in there, I went to meet up with my friend Alex, who showed me around campus a bit more. Then we went to her dorm and hung out for a bit, grabbed some lunch, and then I went back to Laurel's to prepare for Menace Beach, which is some type of club thing rave party that all Tally kids are crazy for.

Lee and I were convinced to stay a second unplanned night, and we sort of had no choice after the ridiculousness of Menace Beach. And by that I mean it was drunken awesomeness, and that's that. Very fun night with very fun people.

The next day Laurel, Lee, Lee's brother Ryan, and I went out to breakfast, and then after saying our goodbyes Lee and I hit the open road to Gainesville.



(Along the way I took pictures of the road with this app called "Toy Camera", which, as you can see, is apparently used to take every cover of any country music album you have ever come across.)

So Lee and I headed to Gainesville for an hour. And by an hour I mean "the night" because Lee and I are spontaneous and decide to stay nights in places we don't live in.

We arrived in Gainesville and picked up Tatum and Monica and headed to Maude's for some coffee and a failed game of scrabble. Then we got hungry and went to Boca Fiesta, where we met up with our lovely friend Michelle (who agreed to host us for the night).

After food and a shower, the five of us had a dance party at Michelle's, because we are adorable people (as you can see):



(Photo by Michelle)

Then we headed out to see our friend Juyoung's band Queen of Spain play. For anyone not in the know, Queen of Spain will be opening up for Akron/Family here in Orlando on 2/19, so snag up a ticket if you can.

On this particular night, Ju's band was one of a few opening up for Morningbell, a band who played Bonnarroo.



(Morningbell)

After the show, exhausted and cold, we ran into Flaco's for a break, where I had a delicious cuban sandwich and a Jersey Shore-ish Italian dude left Lee in charge of his near-puking drunk girlfriend while he went to get some food. Then, we got back to Michelle's and passed out.

In the morning, Lee and I finally made out way back to Orlando, finally, after one of the best in-state trips of my entire life. It was awesome to see everyone and thanks for making those three days so amazing! (Special thanks to Laurel and Michelle for letting us crash those nights.)

In other news, Dean is coming up for a few days today, and tomorrow... school starts. Yep.

Shower Time

It's been unusually cold for the past week or so, which is pretty great in my opinion. Cold weather just feels nicer, you know? Sure, every once in a while, when the wind picks up and hits you hard, you pine for the sauna-like temperatures of years past, but overall, it's been rather cool (sorry).

The only bad thing about cold weather is the warm shower part.

Now, don't get me wrong. The actual warm shower is the best. Over the years I've figured out that personally, I like the feeling of being warm in cold weather more than being cold in warm weather. Blankets to the chin, hot chocolate, layers and coats are all great examples of this, and the scalding hot showers are probably the best example of all.

However.

There comes a time in every warm-shower-when-it's-freezing-everywhere when you have to turn the water off and step out (usually 45 minutes after you first stepped in). Ideally, in a perfect world, the heat generated from your shower would permeate the entire bathroom, and generate nice, temperamental conditions in which to dry yourself off in your cozy towel. The reality, though, is much more frightening.

The cold does not leave the bathroom when you step in for your shower. No, the cold is cunning, like a cheetah. It sees you as a helpless gazelle, unaware and oblivious as you step in for your last moments of comfort. And when you step out, the cold pounces and all hell breaks loose.

There is a split-second, when you have just turned off your scalding hot shower, when everything is okay, and then your eyes get wider and you mumble a barely audible "Oh shi-" and the cold hits you full-force, with everything it has. And it is so... fucking... c-c-cold...

Your human instinct kicks in and you scramble to find your towel, your best friend. But it's not where you normally leave it! "Drats!", you curse yourself, for in your haste to stand under the hot shower water, you forgot to bring in your towel. At this point, the cold is ravaging you. You are dripping wet, naked, and worst of all, completely defenseless. Your body shivers uncontrollably as the cold has its way with you.

No time to lose.

You leap out of the shower like a great warrior, unafraid of the... HOLY SHIT IT'S COLD. The tile flooring is not helping. "Who invented tile?", you wonder, "and why did they make it so cold?" You see the door, your final destination. The three or so tiny steps it takes to reach it feel like an eternity. You dare not look down, of course; the cold has done things to your body that can not be unseen.

You scramble out of the door and lunge into your room, the cold still right behind you. "There it is!" you think to yourself, noticing your fuzzy blue towel laid out perfectly, forgotten initially but now the most important thing in your life. You reach for it, hug it (rather, it hugs you), and you furiously dry yourself off as best you can, defeating the cold, at least for now.

So yes, while the 45 minutes of pure heaven under the hot showers are amazing, the immediate aftermath is almost not worth it. Almost.

Anyways, school starts up again in less than a week. 'Till then, I'll continue sleeping in 'till 3 in the afternoon, looking like a hazy drug addict coming out of a coma:



Well goddamn, I look awful.

Gaga Dreams

I've been having crazy dreams lately. Now, just the fact that I know I've been having crazy dreams lately is crazy in itself; I can very rarely remember anything about my dreams, much less with any detail. I never understood people who remembered every dream they ever had, but then again I've never had good short-term memory. Which actually really sucks, because I can remember things with detail from many years ago, and yet sometimes I have trouble remembering what I had for breakfast the day before (an omelette, if anyone was wondering). But yeah, whenever someone starts describing a dream they had, I always have a sneaking uneasiness that they're making it up, or at least embellishing some parts to make it more exciting. The most I ever used to remember from dreams were blurry bits and pieces that in no way made any sense in the morning, as if I had bought a thousand-piece puzzle and found only 37 pieces in the box.

Anyways.

Lately, I've been remembering every dream I'm having, and they're always ridiculous. For example, let's take my dream last night:

The following is really what I dreamt about, as well as I can remember.

The dream started with me sitting in a comfortable chair in a giant, poorly lit auditorium, among thousands of other people. There was a certain buzz in the air like everyone was waiting for something. Finally, huge lights lit up the stage, and an announcer shouted something along the lines of, "Ladies and gentlemen, heeeere's... LADY GAGA!"

Again, I swear this is what I remember.

So Lady Gaga appears on stage and starts singing something. I don't remember what. I stand up because I want to leave, but for some reason I don't move. I try to sit back down, but Robin Williams is now in my seat. Yes, Robin Williams. Of "Flubber" fame. I say, "Mr. Williams, please get out of my chair, I have to sit back down", and he shakes his head. I feel a tap on my shoulder and there is Lady Gaga, giving me a quizzical look. I motion to Robin Williams and say, "Robin Williams won't get out of my seat."

Lady Gaga taps Robin Williams with her mic, and Robin Williams disappears.

Then I wake up.

In conclusion, if anyone knows a good dream interpreter, send me over.

By the way, I know everyone is in love with Lady Gaga, but until she apologizes for supporting the murder of innocent muppets, I will have nothing to do with her.

Sad Burrito

When I worked as an usher at Muvico, we had "random special customers" that would come in and rate us on how we did our job, and if we messed up somehow they would tell management and we would get in trouble.

In every Chipotle or Moes or any other burrito place, there should be a "random special customer" to check on the burrito-making abilities of the employees. There's nothing sadder than taking two bites and having the burrito fall apart right in front of me. This happens all too often, and then I'm forced to eat the insides with a FORK and that is not the way a burrito should be eaten. Everybody and their burrito-loving mother knows that. So yeah. LEARN TO MAKE A BURRITO, PERSON WHO'S JOB IS TO MAKE A BURRITO.

That is all.

Youth In Revolt

Hello there!

I figured that it's about time to make a little blog that I actually keep up with and write in, so yep, here goes nuffin.

So on January 8th, "Youth In Revolt" is scheduled to open up in theaters. I'm pretty stoked since it's my favorite book, and you know who else's favorite book it is? None other than the lead actor, Mike Cera. And how do I know it's his favorite book?

Well.

It all started a long, long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away (ours, to be exact). Mikey Cera was in his mid-teens acting as George Michael Bluth in a little TV series that would go down as the funniest show in the history of funny shows on TV... Arrested Development. Me? I was hooked. To this day I believe that the two and a half seasons of Arrested Development are the greatest thing that I have ever seen, that the greatest tragedy of this young century was the failure of the American Public to fully realize the genius that was put before their eyes, that such a well-written critics' darling was put to an early death in spite of the protests and anguish of too few loyal fans who would have loved nothing more than to take every non-watcher and sit them down in front of the TV and yell, "THIS! THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE MISSING! HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT-"

Ahem. Anyways.

Me being one of the aforementioned loyal fanboys, I wanted as much access to everything Arrested I could get. The middle of the decade was an interesting time, a time when the true power of social networking sites was just beginning to blossom... so when someone somehow found the real Myspace page of the real Michael Cera, well, let's just say shit hit the fan.

Legions of Arrested Development-ers flocked to the page, and lo' and behold, there's the mug of George Michael, only... "in real life". Naturally I was balls-to-the-wall excited, here was George Michael stripped of everything that made him George Michael. And his favorite book was "Youth In Revolt".

Hmm. Never heard of it. But if Mike Cera likes it enough to list it as his favorite book, it must be pretty good. I went to B&N, snagged a copy, and finished it within three days. Mind you, this is not a short book, not by any means. But it was just so damn good that it was virtually impossible to put it down.

Since then, I've re-read that book so many times, the pages are worn out and crinkly and there are a few soup stains from one too many dinner table readings. But it's still my favorite book.

What I'm trying to say is, how crazy is it that it was Mike Cera's favorite book, before any word of a film was ever spoken, and a few years later he got to act out the main character? To me, that's pretty nuts. In the best way possible.

Alright, sorry if this was a bit lengthy, not all of them will be this way. In conclusion, I hope you are having a terrific day, and Happy New Year!!!